The Secret Child
by AvalonReeseFanFics
Summary: This story starts with a child appearing. Is she the child of a dangerous British Assassin or the child of a Holmes? Either way she wiggles her self into the homes and hearts of the two Holmes brother. But when someone kidnaps her it's up to the brothers to get her back. Do they succeed or fail? Read and find out / Finished but there are more pieces to come / rated M just in case
1. Chapter 1

A Secret Child

 **AvalonReeseFanFics**

 _A/N: So I watched that new Sherlock special and I came up with an idea about a child being just as smart as the two brothers, about another Irene Addler except this one was Mycroft's Addler. So this is the story of that little girl and what she's looking for. Please tell me what you think! I promise that this one will be shorter than some of my other ones._

Chapter 1: False Beginnings

* * *

 _8 years ago_

Is it hard to believe that this feud started years ago? That a stupid lower-school argument could fuel a hatred that lasted at least 22 years? It seemed unlikely that a bunch of grown-ups could hold on to it, but a lot had been said and done by this point that it wasn't just about that argument over who was smarter, it had collected insults and offences like a snowball rolling downhill. It had spiraled out of control, and we had ended up on opposite sides. Me on one, Holmes on the other. Both equals on the field, each trying to outdo the other, he won some, I won most. But maybe that's just me bragging.

I spent so long fighting him that when our mutual friend became his lover I immediately wrote her off. You'd think out of malice, or because now I couldn't trust her, but no. I knew what he was like, I knew that if I stayed around, stayed in contact that he'd find a way to fault her for it. I wanted her to be happy and after having a horribly long crush on this otherwise unattractive man I figured I'd give my friend her chance. And even with me gone he found a way, even though his way was to not trust anyone I was surprised that he wouldn't give it at least a try with her.

When he left her, or whatever, to be honest I had no idea what the two of them were doing, Carolyn called me, one of her oldest friends. She had told me everything, as people were apt to do and made me promise one thing.

Holmes could never know.

So instead of going to a hospital she was with me. Bleeding out. Her baby screaming and flailing its little pudgy arms. She was fading fast and there wouldn't be anything I could do.

"He can never know." Was all she would say, and she was saying it, breathlessly on loop and I kept promising.

When Carolyn Crawford died in my arms I blamed Holmes. I already knew what I had to do but there was still one thing left to decide. What do I do with his child? I could leave it with an agency, sell it to a family for big money or anger him to the nth degree and raise it as my own. But would I really be any good to raise a child, I mean, I was basically a child myself, maturity had never really been my strong suit.

So I sat in that dingy little apartment, holding and cooing to a new born wondering what decision I could come to. But when Andrew—my brand new husband—came in to pick me up and help me deal with the body I knew what was going to happen and he could see it in my eyes.

"What's her name?" he asked me as we left that night.

"Marilotta Holmes," I had replied. "But we're going to call her Marie Carolyn Ashton."

Marilotta Carolyn Crawford-Holmes, never had a birth certificate, never actually existed according to the world. But Marie Carolyn Ashton did and I left it somewhere that bastard would find it. Would he wonder how I was so thin in our last encounter or just chalk it up to my genes? I never asked him and as the years went by Marie Ashton became more mine then his and I never felt the need to tell her who she really was.

But that changed in an instant the day she told me she wanted to meet her father. Her real father. And I was forced to admit just how bad I had been to the person who hated me the most.

* * *

 _Present day_

A child walks out of the bowels of Appledore, a small suitcase in one hand and a cellphone in the other. Sherlock Holmes had no idea she was there, neither did John. Charles Augustus Magnussen seems irritated that she had appeared.

The child couldn't have been more than eight. She wore a dark blue frock with white socks. A uniform devoid of the school crest that should sit on her chest but not ripped out to hide her origin or school. Her shoes have dried mud that has begun to crack, she had been kept inside for many days but has recently been out playing in the mud. Her socks seem less crisp, she hasn't had a new pair to wear in a while. Her dress hasn't been washed either, she seemed pungent and stiff. Her shaggy, chin length black hair is greasy.

Sherlock would have to deduce that she has been a prisoner. Most likely here in his home from anywhere between two to three days.

Her electric blue eyes are vivid though, unwavering and clear, they shine with a sort of intelligence he only saw mirrored in his own eyes of the eyes of his brother. She has a bent sort of nose, one that seems to narrow and pointed for her face as if she has yet to grow into it, much like the nose he and his brother had inherited from their father that never seemed to fit their faces either. She is pale, comprised of gangly limbs, and unnaturally thin but not showing any signs of starvation so at least she had been fed well while she was here. Burns and scratch marks on her hands, red marks on her wrists, she was bound, she fought back, and she had been punished for it.

The more Sherlock looks at her the more certain of her he is.

She's handed Magnussen the phone. Her voice clear, her words annunciated with a sharp hint of one with a high intelligence.

"My mummy wants to talk to you."

She is proper British, probably born and raised here. She has an American way around her vowels though, probably lives with an American relative. A helicopter is whirling near-by, people are shouting, Sherlock has been holding a gun to Magnussen's head and this girl seemed unaffected. She has been around guns and violence almost all her life or an uncommon bravery. Peculiar none-the-less

Magnussen puts the phone on speaker, now he can hear better and Sherlock can hear the conversation.

"The files are in your head? I let you steal my daughter, I played the goddamn fool, and everything you had was in your head?" a voice snaps. British with strong hints of American, anger is flying from this voice, the tone is outrage.

"When I find you. You. Are. Dead."

Each word punctuated. Each word meant. Magnussen is either going to die by Sherlock's hand or this woman's. He seems uninterested. He's hung up the phone.

"Anne is so over dramatic," he says, smiling in that cocky way at Sherlock. Sherlock wants nothing more than to pull the trigger. An eight year old out on the deck with him is the only thing stopping him right now.

Sherlock could think of only one Anne that could fit this description he is presented. Annie Ashton-Peppercraft, previously Annie Peppercraft, married to American disavowed FBI agent, Andrew Ashton. Criminal mastermind, skilled assassin, master thief, mother of three. Making the child most likely her eldest, Marie Ashton, eight years old, born October 12th 2004.

Sherlock has noted that even his brother has stopped shouting orders at him from that stupid helicopter.

The child has moved. She's in between Sherlock and John now, staring unwaveringly up at Magnussen who is no longer interested in the child. Sherlock has choices now, either way he's going to jail. And he needs to save John and Mary.

When he pulls the trigger he notices that the child doesn't flinch or jump. She watches the body fall, she watches the lazers pinpoint on Sherlock. She frees his hand so he can put both of his up, and then she hugs his leg. He doesn't try to shake her off, not because the touch is comforting but because they won't shoot him when a child is this close. He can feel her heart beat against his leg, it has not sped up once.

* * *

His brother comes to arrest him. Sherlock is grateful that it's him. His eyes find the child and Sherlock wills him to see what he sees. The great Mycroft so much more brilliant than Sherlock. Surely he must see it too.

She offers him the phone she pried loose from Magnussen's corpse. As soon as it's in his hands it vibrates. Mycroft doesn't even look surprised, he walks away to take the call leaving Sherlock handcuffed, sitting in the back of a truck with an eight year old almost vanished in the EMS blanket that the responders swathed her in.

Her eyes are unwaveringly clear. "You're my real daddy," she whispers.

Sherlock blinks. He doesn't quite know what to say. He's certain that her date is incorrect, but he doesn't argue. A small hand of hers reaches out and points at his nose. "We have the same nose, same eyes and same hair."

This is true, but Sherlock still thinks she's wrong. He doesn't tell her this, why shatter this poor child.

"You have marks on your hands. Did he hurt you?" he asks instead.

She smiles, her lips are thin, her smile devious. There's an almost criminal like twinkle in her clear blue eyes so similar to Sherlock's. "Mummy taught me how to lock pick. The wires of the cages cut me though."

Anger churns through Sherlock's stomach. To think a relative of his was caged like a mere animal is both demeaning and distressing.

Mycroft has returned. The phone no longer in his possession. The child doesn't ask for it.

"Marie Ashton," he starts.

"Actually it's Marilotta Holmes," she tells him as a matter-of-factly.

She has the Holmesian arrogance to match her Holmesian name. Mycroft doesn't raise an eyebrow. "Your mother is not coming. Now that I have you in my custody she'll have to deal with me to get you back and she'd rather not."

Sherlock find this hard to stomach. That Mycroft would treat a relative of theirs so badly. Sherlock say nothing as he's in no position to comment in handcuffs.

"Did she tell you what happened?" she asks. Her eyes have widened, her interest in Mycroft seems different from her interest in Sherlock, more intent. Her eyes still were assessing him as if trying to memorize every inch of him.

"That Magnussen took you to coerce your family to do something that even Anne had qualms about doing? Must have been bad if Anne didn't think it was a good idea. That your mother allowed him to think he won because they wanted access to his vaults of blackmail? That I was once again a step ahead of her so she didn't have time to collect you once you had established the location of the vaults and now you're stuck here and she can't come rescue you? Yes. I know it all," he snapped.

The girl has tilted her head to the side in mock confusion. "About who I am," she clarifies as if Mycroft didn't understand, as if he were the slower one.

"That you're a child of Sherlock's that she stole to irk me? Raising you as a mini version of her? Yes she mentioned that as well," he added. He turns to Sherlock now, staring down at him in that cold disappointed way. He wondered how he couldn't see it the way he did. Sherlock wondered why of all things he's blind to this. "Sherlock may I introduce you to your daughter. Marilotta Ashton-Holmes, I've been told she prefers the name Marie."

Sherlock glares at his brother and doesn't correct him. Annie has lied, whether it be to protect the child or his brother. Sherlock can feel it in his bones that it's wrong, but he doesn't have the access to proper equipment to prove himself right.

So he looks down to the girl and tries to smile. "It's very nice to meet you my dear," he says.

She turns to him again, her eyes clear her smile as devious as before. She hugs him and as much as he'd like to hug her back he doesn't. It's not the handcuffs holding him back though, it's the shock of realizing—once he looked into that little girl eyes—that she knew.

She knew that everyone was lying.

* * *

Reviews make me Happy!


	2. Chapter 2

The Secret Child

 **AvalonReeseFanFics**

 _A/N: Here were are, the next part of the story. This is where we get to see a little bit of how everyone interacts with Marie and how things are changing. There's a big cliffhanger at the end. Tell me if you like it!_

Chapter 2: All that was In between

* * *

Three days later Sherlock is being put on a plane. He's being exiled. John and Mary have been allowed to come and say good-bye. Sherlock seems okay seeing as he's going off to his death, this excursion is a punishment and a mission that will surely kill him. Mycroft and his assistant are standing together, Sherlock's plane is already in the air. Both of them have gotten a phone call. John is distracted by a black limo coming towards them.

Both Mycroft and his cars are here already, there is no need for a third. John wonders what's going on.

Mycroft turns. "I have distressing news," he tells them.

The assistant seems agitated, her call, too, is finished. She wants to tell Mycroft something important, something that seems directly correlated to the limo coming towards them. But Mycroft is explaining the mysterious case of the hi-jacked TVs. She finally interrupts. "She… escaped… again…"

Mycroft stops in his explanation of Moriarty and the endless loop that has taken over every television in Britain somehow. He turns to her obviously too flabbergasted to deal with this at the moment.

"She what?" he growls. Not because he needs it repeated but probably more because he is in shock.

The limo has stopped, his assistant has gestured to it and Marie erupts from the back seat, a flourish of childhood gayety. She's in an outfit similar to the uniform she was found in. A navy blue skirt and white cotton jumper, black flats and knee high white socks.

She hugs Mycroft's leg, being only as tall as his hip and smiles up to him. "A half hour! That's a new record!" she cries. She has been taken to several juvenile halls to be held in a maximum security cell in case her adoptive mother was to come looking for her. None of the places she has been in has held her. She's has now escaped from her fourth.

Mycroft is glaring down at her. Instantly her smile fades and she lets him go. "I am running out of secured facilities to leave you in," he snaps.

Her hands are behind her back, clasped tightly together. White at the knuckles the only sign of fear on the small child. "I don't like those facilities. They're lonely. They remind me of Magnussen's cages!" she tells him. When Mycroft fails to falter at this the crocodile-tears start brimming in her eyes. "Please let me stay with Uncle John and Aunt Mary! I'll be good, I promise."

"No child raised by Anne Peppercraft can be good!" he snaps. And the girl gasps as if he struck her. The tears in her eyes are now real and before John can do anything to stop her his very pregnant wife is beside the crying child.

"Now you stop bullying the girl Mycroft!" she orders. "She's a victim in all this. And personally I would love to take care of this little princess."

"But Anne…"

"Wouldn't dare come against me. Besides, you can have us put under surveillance if you really want to keep that close an eye on her. OR if you need an even closer one, have her live with you."

Mycroft takes a step back from them. He glares down at the child who is hiding her face in Mary's pants. "She may stay with you then, but if you get any communication, or hint of Anne's presence you are to send her straight to me, do you understand?"

He turns towards the plane that has just landed and storms off. Leaving the sniffing girl behind, watching him go with forlorn blue eyes.

* * *

 _1 month later_

As soon as she vanished the babysitter called Mycroft as per the directions she had been left. He had a feeling that he already knew where the girl had gone. If Anne hadn't come to collect her, that is.

As expected he found Marie at the crime scene with Sherlock and John. It was an inappropriate place for a child to be, but there she was. They had her sitting in the CSI van with Detective Lestrade and letting her play with finger printing dust. Her still-learning-how-to-be-a-father parent was ignoring her in favour for a corpse.

Still nervous and wary of this child Mycroft heads to his brother who is examining a puddle of something that isn't blood by the body. He glares at Sherlock who is pretending to not see him. John says nothing to him but nods in acknowledgement.

"What is it Mycroft?" Sherlock asks in a disinterested tone. He must know he's about to get a lecture.

"You brought a child to a crime scene?" he hissed back.

"Of course not," Sherlock snaps. "But you knew that already."

Behind them Marie is laughing. The sound seems to strike some unknown chord in Mycroft and he turns to it finding a smile on his face that he didn't know he had formed. She is wearing a bobby's hat, and it's much too large, it's covering most of her face now. Mycroft has the sudden laughable urge to take a picture of this moment to make it permanent. He doesn't, of course, as that would be absurd but Lestrade takes one and Mycroft feels another urge to ask him for a copy of it. Also absurd, if he really wanted it he could hack it without Lestrade evening knowing he was there.

"You cannot indulge her criminal whims!" Mycroft argues.

Sherlock turns to him. "I distinctly remember that we used to sneak out constantly," he reminds his older brother causing Mycroft to frown. Yes that was true but it was an entirely different thing when it involved the fruit of one's loins. He hadn't thought that to be true and here he was feeling it for someone that wasn't even his own.

"Besides, from my understanding Marie was just lonely and bored. Mary's working, John and I were here, god knows she wouldn't know how to find you. That babysitter of hers was with her boyfriend when Marie left. The girl just wants to be with someone. I rather get the impression that there are a lot of children in the Ashton household." Sherlock explains.

If the files are to be believed, that is true. Including Marie there were two others that Anne had borne. Her accomplice Natalie had one son and her other accomplice Ian had at least four children, all boys, one elder and three triplets if the files were right. Mycroft didn't pretend to know what went on but there must have been a nanny and the children all relying on one another as Anne was usually out wreaking havoc upon the United Kingdom and other European countries and was notoriously immature to boot. Marie had mentioned only once that she had been home schooled by a combination of people but Mycroft could find no hint of the existence of any of the women she had named as her teacher.

"She shouldn't be here," Mycroft repeats.

"Yes, I acknowledge that to be true. But the girl is resourceful," Sherlock snaps and then returns to his unidentified puddle.

Mycroft shakes his head, from the snapshots he's seen from this crime scene he can already deduce what happened and likely who did it, but he'll let Sherlock have his little game. He instead walks to the CSI van where Marie is now playing with Lestrade's loaded gun. Fear lances through him quickly though he doesn't quite know why just that it's to do with Marie's safety and general well-being.

She smiles up to him and Lestrade snatches the gun away as if Mycroft hadn't already seen the police issue firearm in the hands of a minor. "It was wrong of you to run away from your babysitter."

"She was having sex on Uncle John's couch."

The language is shocking and momentarily stuns Mycroft. He immediately blames Anne for this young child knowing exactly what sex is and how that word should be used.

"She will be fired," Mycroft tells her once he regains his composure to uncomfortable to have the sex talk with her instead.

The child yawns and then lifts her arms up to rub her eyes sleepily. The feeling that has settled into Mycroft's chest can be nothing else except maternal instinct and against his better judgement he acts on it. He lifts the small child up into his arms and immediately her small but strong arms are around his neck and her head on his shoulder. It feels almost like she belongs there and that thought is one that is laughable and scary at the same time.

"I'm going to take you home," he tells her. "I'll stay until John or Mary return."

This statement has no effect on the tired child. But he can feel a small smile stretching across her lips through the fabric of his dress shirt. "Can you tell me a bedtime story?" she asks.

As Mycroft takes her back to his car he begins telling her the tale of Redbeard and his treasure.

* * *

 _3 months later_

Due to the fact that John and Mary couldn't make it to the recital with their brand new baby Sherlock has dragged Mycroft to the event. He keeps saying that as an Uncle Mycroft should be there to solidify her claim in the family, make her feel like she belonged. None of them had ever had recitals but Mycroft knew that if his little brother had a recital he never would have been there to validate his need to feel like a part of the Holmes clan. He wouldn't have been there, period.

Sherlock had been insistent that Mycroft come and to appease his little brother he did. He was now in an uncomfortable seat in the middle of an auditorium filled with the little people he liked to pretend didn't exist, the people who were basically just a bunch of goldfish to him. His legs were too long and the space between seats too confined for him to find any comfortable position, the back of the seat too low for his high back. The correct posture would be impossible in these seats. They had sat through what seemed like hours of drabble, warbling singing, off key guitar solos and scratching violins.

It was finally Marie's turn. Sherlock had kept mentioning that he along with John and Mary didn't have enough to put Marie into the fancy violin school so she could further her amazing talent. He knew that his brother was fishing for money to fund this but Mycroft didn't want to pay the price. She was only eight, there was no way she was that good at the violin to even be considered for that expensive and prestigious a school.

Marie was slowly being integrated into the Holmes lifestyle. Already she had been at two crime scenes with Sherlock and John, not because they brought her there but because she went there herself to see them. She was well known by the police of the Met, and well loved by all especially Lestrade who constantly showered her with gifts and treats. Mrs. Hudson clearly favoured her, as she was constantly sending cakes and cookies and meals to the Watson's so Marie could eat well and often baby-sat for Marie when Sherlock and John went out. Even Molly Hooper had liked the girl, allowing her to sit in on dissections and holding the child's hair back when she threw up.

She was advanced in all her classes, sitting at high school levels and low college in some subjects. Due to her inability to get along with the students of her grade level and not wanting to go to university a head of her time Mycroft was paying to send her to a special school that tailored her work to her level and needs.

She hadn't been fully comfortable calling Sherlock Dad so she was easing into it, calling him Uncle Sherlock instead. She spent most of her time with John and Mary having been good practice for their upcoming—and now present—child. She had brief vacations with both Sherlock and Mycroft, separately mostly and almost always on weekends or just for dinner in Mycroft's case. Sherlock assumed he would be a bad influence on the girl, Mycroft was just not good with children at all and wanted to limit his interaction with her. Just because she was a blood relative didn't mean he'd magically become good with children.

Then there was the secondary problem of Anne. She hadn't tried to make a move or any contact with the child since she had been taken. This wasn't like Anne. Having known Anne as long as he had he knew that she was fiercely loyal to her friends and family. Regularly she wouldn't have just let this go without fighting it and if Anne had decided to fight Mycroft was sure to loose. Nothing was more deadly or terrifying that Anne when she was angrily determined to get her way or if something stood between her and someone she was loyal to or protective of. Mycroft had to assume that something was wrong, that there was some greater plan here. But he didn't know what it was. He hated not knowing, that after 23 years he still had no way to understand the way Anne worked or how she made her decisions. She was still utterly unpredictable and it was this among other things that made him hate her.

Marie walking on stage brought everyone to clapping. She hadn't even played a note and yet the whole crowd was in applause. It had been that way for each child before her and Mycroft hated it, it inspired this idea of specialty in an otherwise mediocre child. Mycroft dutifully clapped along, slowly and sarcastically while he lounged back in his seat trying to get comfortable and failing. Marie was in a fancier version of her uniform. A black shirt and a sparkling white jumper, she even had a bow in her now shoulder length black hair, still it was an unruly curly that no brush or hair band had yet to tame.

Marie's recital piece was nothing like the others. Her violin playing was skillful and fast, her light fingers making for fast riffs and amazing fiddle like tunes. Her playing was back dropped to an abhorrent club music, maybe the stuff called dub-step. It suited what she was playing so quickly and Mycroft found that he was enjoying it anyway.

He sat mesmerized by the look of happiness on her face and he knew that he'd do anything he could to always keep that look on his niece's face. This new and overwhelming sense of pride filled his chest until he thought it would burst. Illogically he wondered if he was having a stroke. He knew he hadn't but he didn't like the feeling that was growing inside him.

After she finished playing that was a resounding stunned silence from the audience before the applause began in deafening earnest. Marie was all smiles as she took it in, and Mycroft found that, like everyone else in the dingy auditorium, he was on his feet giving her the standing ovation she obviously deserved.

They didn't stay in the auditorium after she left the stage, instead going back into the hallways of the small music school to wait for her to come out of the back so they could take her home. Sherlock had told him time and time again that they would be taking her to a fancy ice cream shop to reward her brilliant performance. Mycroft knew he would be paying and he didn't mind. Mycroft held the flowers they had purchased together, neither talking as they waited.

Marie bolts out of the back, her violin case in her hands. Mycroft knew the violin had been a gift from Anne and Andrew on Marie's 6th birthday, he had checked it for bugs and anything else that he figured Anne or her friends could hide and found nothing. She threw herself at Sherlock who picked her up with ease and hugged her. It was a tender moment that Mycroft didn't like watching. He didn't feel like it belonged to either him or Sherlock, but least of all Sherlock.

"Was I good?" she asked.

"Marvelous," Sherlock says without missing a beat. Mycroft nods in agreement. Sherlock puts her down, but still hold her hand, her little hand dwarfed in his larger one. "Shall we go for ice cream?"

Marie is all smiles, and even though Mycroft holds the flowers she thanks him for them. As they walk Mycroft drops his voice and says: "A talent like that should have been noted by now. I will be sending word to the administrator of that school, she should have a scholar ship long before now."

Though even if she didn't get a scholarship Mycroft knew he'd pay for her to get proper lessons.

* * *

 _6 months later_

Mycroft storms into the hallway of Buckingham Palace utterly outraged. He stomps down to the rooms where the Queen was to have her formal tea completely undisturbed.

Throws open the door, angry, already glaring his pale face uncommonly red, now more common because this sort of thing has been happening more and more frequently.

"I'm sorry Ma'am," he tries to say, but the Queen is smiling and so is the little girl sitting beside her who is diligently working on her homework.

He tries to quell the sudden wave of pride he feels knowing that she had inherited the Holmesian brain. Marie has been working on advanced calculus for a few months now, it's not her favourite but she's excelling at it. She was probably more intelligent than Sherlock was at her age, for some reason this pleases Mycroft immensely.

"My dear Mycroft, why didn't you tell me that you had such a delightful niece?" the Queen asks.

Mycroft tries not to sigh at her. He's not surprised that the Queen is besotted with his niece, the girl seemed to exude this radiating aura of innocence. No one ever expected her when things went missing or suddenly went awry. No one except Mycroft that is. It was a gift that her adoptive mother had as well, this outward appearance of innocence.

"Yes, quite delightful," he agrees but only patronizingly as it would not do to argue with the Queen. He approaches Marie who had chosen to ignore him for her math problems, not because she needs or wants to concentrate but to avoid his piercing gaze now that it's been determined she's in trouble.

He purposely keeps his voice low and amicable to say: "I thought I told you to wait in the security office for my return?"

Those eyes so alike to his brother's turns to him. "You did, and I did stay. And then I got bored so I went to find you and I found puppies instead!"

"Corgis dear," the Queen corrects.

Marie nods dutifully also patronizing the Queen like Mycroft had done not seconds before. He tries to hide the smile that wants to crack on his thin lips, he should be angry that she would dare such a thing to her sovereign Queen but he is impressed and bit amused by her impetuousness. "Right, Corgis. I found Corgis and tea all set out and ready…"

"You dared to steal the Queen's tea?" Mycroft cried outraged by this. Had the Queen been in a bad mood this would have been an act of treason and what would Mycroft done to protect her then?

"Oh tut now Mycroft. The child was merely hungry. Why didn't you pack her a lunch when you took her to work with you?" the Queen asked.

Mycroft bit back his frustration. How was he to explain to the Queen that he had no intention of taking this infuriating child to work with him? Yes it was Take-Your-Child-to-Work-Day in the schools but he had assumed she would go with her surrogate family instead. In fact he wasn't certain her special school even did a Take-Your-Child-to-Work-Day, he wouldn't be surprised if she skipped school today and made up that excuse. He would have to check later.

Problem was, as she had stated, Uncle Sherlock—why she continued to call the man who was her father Uncle Sherlock was beyond comprehension in his brilliant mind—Uncle John, and Uncle Greg—also known as Detective Lestrade—were all investigating a murder. They had long stopped allowing Marie at crime scenes once Mycroft lectured them each about the impropriety of a child anywhere near a murder scene. Aunt Mary was home with the baby daughter. Marie had no one else to go to but Uncle Mycroft but then purposely failed to mention she would be going with him and instead turning up that morning INSIDE Buckingham's secret hallways. He still didn't know how she managed to get past security. He suspected that Anne might have taught her some of her own sneaking techniques and had been mentally cursing her all day… sometimes even cursing her out loud like he had when he had gotten word where Marie had disappeared to.

Mycroft grits his teeth. "Well she has been sufficiently fed I presume?" he asks the Queen who is now nodding in a patronizing way and Mycroft lets her feel like the bigger person. "Come now Marie, it's time we stop bugging her Majesty."

Marie's book snaps shut. She curtsies politely to the Queen. "Thank you for indulging me and letting me take lots of pictures with you, and your dogs and your crown and your throne…"

"Marie!" Mycroft snaps in warning and Marie politely curtsies again winning a small smile from the Queen. Mycroft makes a mental note to ask for those pictures as soon as he gets Marie somewhere safe. She puts a hand in Mycrofts and lets him lead her out of the room. He has gotten used to holding her hand and found that most times he wanted her hand in his just so he knew she was still there.

They say a polite good-bye to the Queen and her fleet of corgis that Marie already knows by name. Then they're in the hallway. She's quiet all of two seconds.

"Please let me come with you," she pleads. Her voice low and scratchy. Mycroft knows this as the voice she uses when she's close to tears. He softens without wanting to.

"You may sit in my office but not my meetings, I'll let you play games on my computer," he bargains.

When she smiles up at him it's the smile that reserved for him and him alone. A smile he cherishes and adores as much as this girl seems to cherish and adore him.

* * *

 _2 months later_

It's been a full year since Marie had entered their lives. Since then a lot had changed for the Holmes brothers. Marie had become a permanent fixture in their lives and Mycroft was having a hard time remembering the good old days where he didn't constantly worry about the well-being of a small child as clever and devious as both he and Sherlock had been at that age.

Her birthday had come and gone. John and Mary had bought her clothes and educations toys. Sherlock had given her books, text books, advanced novels and medical journals. Lestrade gave her a genuine bobby's hat made to fit her head so she could be in uniform whenever she joined John and Sherlock on their visits to the Met. Molly Hooper had given her a chemistry set complete with dangerous chemicals and a microscope, basically a miniature version of the one Sherlock had on his kitchen table. Mrs. Hudson baked her a cake and gave her a soft teddy bear for her to cuddle with.

Mycroft had purchased her a new violin that she had barely used. She claimed it to be too fancy for every day practicing but she wouldn't use it for recitals or auditions because her old one was for good luck and she couldn't play well without it. He knew she wanted her old one because it was from Anne, the family she always referred to as her "real family" and for some unknown reason this sentiment hurt Mycroft in a way he refused to acknowledge.

For today, the anniversary of her appearance, they had planned a small dinner with the family and friends to show how much they appreciated her in their lives which was combined with the Christmas dinner. Mrs. Hudson and Mary's idea of course. Mycroft thought it to be ridiculous but he went along, happy to surprise his niece, this time with a better gift then the last.

Mycroft had had a specialty music box made. Fashioned in the shape of a Carousel, with intricate and specifically unique horses and other fanciful creatures that moved up and down as it turned, this music box had a hidden cache in the top that she that had a special combination he would have to teach her. It played a beautiful custom melody, her favourite song, _Can't Help Falling in Love._ This was no doubt picked up from Anne as it was also her favourite song but Mycroft didn't mind in this case.

He knew that this present would be better as he had recently learned she loved carousels. That had been made apparent when she screamed in joy at the sight of one when they drove past a small carnival one day. He was proud of himself and proud of his choice in gift. He had definitely outdone himself and he couldn't possibly wait for the evening to see her face when she opened it.

He had picked up the music box that morning, he had his assistant expertly wrap it for him. He was now waiting to finish the day and for the first time, instead of wanting to be at work, he wanted work to be done so you could go to a family event. Hell must have frozen over.

There was nothing about this day that proved out of the ordinary, nothing that could have warned Mycroft of what was about to happen. So he was surprised when he got an anonymous email from a source he didn't recognize. He opened it, expecting spam, or something of national importance. Instead it was a picture.

Marie was staring tearful at him from the computer screen, she was in her Christmas outfit, white jumper trimmed with red and green holiday ribbons, but it was dirty down the front, oil grease, dust and mud. She had a fat lip and a bruised cheek, she held a copy of the morning paper, like the one Mycroft had thrown out at lunch. His heart had stopped in his chest, breathing seemed impossible, fear seared through him painful hot and cold at the same time.

There was a simple sentence under the photo.

"Your daughter for the codes."

Mycroft had already surmised who had sent him this image. The sentence perplexed him as Marie was not his, but already he was mentally comprising list of the codes that he had memorized so he could compile them in one document for her kidnappers. The fact that he had already decided to trade them for her surprised him but he couldn't think of anything else.

His phone rang. Mary was frantic on the other side. Their apartment had been ransacked. Marie who had been with her at the grocery story to pick up last minute meal preparations had gone missing. Anne had called but hung up. Mycroft couldn't find words other than: "I know." He hung up on her too.

When his phone rang again—this time Sherlock—he didn't pick up. He waited as the calls came through, John, Sherlock, Mary, Mary, John, Sherlock, none the one he wanted to talk to. As he waited he typed the codes out. It occurred to him to think of a dastardly plan, a way to trick them into getting the child back and not having to give them these important codes. Codes that would get them into any government bank vault, codes worth more money than the world could count. He didn't even bother to change a random number in the codes. For some reason the need to get her back in once piece, to not gamble with her life, is paramount.

The phone rang. No number. With shaking hands Mycroft answers it.

"The Russians have her," he tells her.

"You were supposed to keep her safe. When I let her go, when I let you take her, I thought you'd keep her safe!"

Anne's voice sounds frantic and he understands, sort of. He's not surprised that she let him take Marie, he had suspected as much for months now. He wants to press her for why she let this go this far but he has more important things to worry about at this point.

"As an uncle her safety is not my main concern," he says. It's a lie. It's been a main concern for more than six months now. He doesn't want to give Anne the satisfaction of knowing that she managed to imbue any sort of feeling in him. "You should be lecturing Sherlock."

There's a hissing on the other line. Anne's angry. She might even be afraid. Marie's in danger and Anne still cares. Mycroft starts to believe that maybe Anne did love Marie as her own, that raising her hadn't just been about spite. But why take in Sherlock's child? Sherlock had never meant anything to Anne, nothing except he was off limits when it came to their feud, just like the children that were hers and her friends were off limit to Mycroft.

"She's not Sherlock's you twit!" she suddenly screams. "You're telling me the great Mycroft Holmes had no idea that's his daughter? She's Carolyn's you asshole!"

Now Mycroft is frozen for a completely different reason. Frozen because Anne is once again correct. What is now plain as day, so easily seen in the face, in the tone, in the way she moved or talked, hadn't been noticed before. How could he have not noticed before this very moment? That Marie had been his.

* * *

 **OMGOSH! Was anyone expecting that? I did! HA! If you'd like to know what Marie's violin playing was like go to youtube and look up Lindsay Stirling. I love her music and I couldn't wait to incorporate it in a Sherlock Fic! Don't forget to Review to make me happy!**


	3. Chapter 3

The Secret Child

 **AvalonReeseFanFics**

 _A/N: Here we are Chapter 3. This is where we get to learn about Marie's mother and how she knew Mycroft and how all this sort of happened. Please tell me what you think! I'd love to know if there are any readers out there._

Chapter 3: Flashback

* * *

When Mycroft met Carolyn Crawford they were only five years old. They were in primary school together. Carolyn had this shiny golden yellow hair the color of straw, grass green eyes and she was a bit chubby back then even though later on she would grow into the most beautiful woman in their upper school. At five, Mycroft would pull her hair and call her dumb. He called her goldfish all through lower school. It was a childhood flirtation, a little boy hurting the girl he liked because he didn't know what else to do. Everything was fine, he was well on his way to making her his girlfriend by middle school but it all ended there. At the end of lower school, right when they were about to graduate into middle school Carolyn made friends with the new girl.

The new girl, Anne Peppercraft, had been adopted by a family and sent to our school. On the outside she looked sweet as can be, with her jet black hair that lay in perfect cascading waves no matter what she did with it, her piercing almost violet blue eyes and her angelic like face. In actuality she was the meanest nine-year-old on the playground, having come from an orphanage that hadn't been the kindest. It gave her every lesson she needed to take over and Anne ruled the playground with an iron fist that was constantly bloodied from all her fights. She punched Mycroft first. She later told the teacher that it was for two reasons. First because Mycroft was being such a terribly stuck up twat and second because he wouldn't stop calling Carolyn goldfish and making her cry.

Anne and Carolyn were best friends after that.

And Mycroft kept tormenting them. The years went on and the rivalry between Anne and Mycroft grew. All through middle school Mycroft spent every waking moment trying to prove to her that he was better than her. Because clearly he was, he was more intelligent and he had more money. But Anne Peppercraft couldn't care less about any of that, she would glare down on him because she was taller at that point as if he were beneath her and he so clearly wasn't.

She wasn't nearly as smart as him but she was definitely stronger and more street smart. She knew things, things that kids weren't supposed to know. She dealt in back alley deals, illegal substances that 10-12 year-olds would want. Expensive candies, the rarest baseball cards, erotic magazines, you named it that girl could get it if you paid her right, her usual fee being bubble-gum, lip-gloss or fish and chips. Mycroft kept snitching on her, Annie kept punching him and Carolyn would try to diffuse it all. Or at least keep Anne from severely hurting him.

He never told Carolyn that he thought her to be the most beautiful girl in the school. He figured that much would be obvious as she was constantly on dates with the jocks of the school. He never asked her out because he was too busy with his brother and his studies. But Anne knew, and Anne teased him about it. But for some reason Anne never told Carolyn, having apparently decided that the secret was his to tell. He never thanked her for that and he probably never would.

After Upper school Mycroft lost touch with Annie and Carolyn. He found Anne first. She had become a criminal, and he was tasked to find her. She had made new friends. There was Natalie Mason, a very angry little Asian woman who was deadly with pretty much any gun given to her but specified in snipers and then there was Ian and Lyra Lambert. Ian drove the vehicles and kept Natalie and Anne from killing each other and everything in their vicinity and Lyra was their hacker, she was probably the most dangerous out of them all. She could hack you out of existence if she really wanted to. Apparently Ian and Lyra had married while still in upper school and had just not told anyone. They had already had their first child by this point.

Anne had out witted him that first time they re-met and the feud was rekindled. This was because she knew how he thought and she knew what he'd do where as Anne's thought processes were all about the whim of the moment, the girl very rarely made an informed decision despite having all the information present to do that.

She got away from him twelve times before Mycroft found Carolyn again. Mycroft was 20 at this point. He had just gotten his job with the Queen. Carolyn was his only link to Anne, the only person who knew what she was doing. Anne had just caused a major problem with the American embassy and FBI.

She had committed a series of crimes while visiting over there. This meant that MI6 had to work with FBI when she retreated back to England to run away from Johnny Law over in the states. The task force they sent over was lead by Andrew Ashton, the son of a very prominent family over there. Apparently Anne had made him look the fool and he was out for revenge. He came with a small team that consisted of a few agents and one that was his friend, Aidan Conforti who specialized in bombs. He was mostly there because Andrew liked having his friend around but Mycroft didn't comment on that.

It wasn't made known until after Andrew and Aidan had been disavowed what had actually happened. Apparently Anne had made Andrew the fool by seducing him and using his clearance to get into the Pentagon to get to the classified files. He was further embarrassed when it was made known that Natalie had done the same thing to his friend and gotten into Area 51. He came to England to make her pay, only to realize he loved the damn bitch and Anne and Andrew and their rag tag group of friends ran off into the sunset to get married. The very prominent Ashton family had been furious.

Mycroft went to Carolyn because she had just returned from Boca which was the last place MI6 knew Anne and Andrew to be. He correctly assumed that Carolyn had been invited to the wedding. She fully admitted that she had and she was Anne's Maid of Honour. Mycroft had demanded that she tell him where Anne had gone, but Carolyn had been adamant that she didn't know and wouldn't tell him if she did.

Instead of arresting her for withholding evidence, Mycroft asked her on a date. To his surprise Carolyn said yes.

They dated on and off for a year. Originally the plan had been to seduce her, get her to snitch on Anne but she never did. Instead that old upper-school crush hit Mycroft full force, and every time he realized that he was getting too close or too emotional with her he'd pick a fight—almost always about Anne—and leave her.

They argued about why Carolyn insisted on calling Anne "Annie" it was stupid and the girl never called her anything as ridiculous as Carol. They argued about why Carolyn wouldn't tell Mycroft where Anne was. They argued about whether or not Carolyn knew about Anne's master plans before they happened. He often accused her of playing games with him, that her and Anne were in on it together and laughing at him behind his back. She yelled at him about being unfeeling. About caring more about work then he did about her. About being insensitive. About never being there for her. Sometimes she even accused him of loving Anne more than her since he seemed so obsessed with her.

They always got back together. Their break ups would only last days, sometimes weeks. But it was their last one that Mycroft would never forget.

Anne had gotten away from him again. He had taken it out on Carolyn. Carolyn had been oddly distant and Mycroft had the feeling that she was getting ready to break up with him. She had been oddly tearful during this argument and at some point she shouted: "I wouldn't want you anyway! You'd be a horrible father!"

Mycroft had put together then what her symptoms had added up to. Grumpiness, distance, a persistent flu that kept them from going out for dinner and weight gain in her breasts. Carolyn was clearly pregnant. The child so obviously his, but he was angry, he was young and 21 and he worked for a level of government so high no one but the Queen could tell him what to do and even then he could tell her no if he really wanted to. So he shouted back: "It's probably not even mine!"

It was meant to be hurtful and it hit its point. She had slapped him and kicked him out. Mycroft immediately went shopping for baby needs and read every material he could on being a father and what to expect when expecting. He figured in a few days Carolyn would calm down, they would talk, they would be rational, he'd propose, get married quick and that was it. Instant family. He even bought a ring.

But Carolyn vanished.

When she up and disappeared from the face of the earth Mycroft knew Anne was involved. The fact that there was literally nothing on any of the cameras that Mycroft could have used to track their movements meant the whole family was in on it. He knew that Anne was on the defensive, she was expecting him to look, to search thoroughly and he wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of playing into one of her games. So he sat back and waited. He counted down the months, waiting for any suspicious looking birth certificates or any hospitals that had descriptions of women matching Carolyn's and Anne's description admitted around the time of the supposed birth day.

He had assumed that the birth would happen around October 2nd but nothing ever came. Instead more than a week after October 2nd a body was found. The lower half had been completely decimated but the woman matched Carolyn's description. Her finger prints and DNA were taken at the scene, but there was a mix up on the computers. Instead of her body going to the morgue for examination she ended up at the cremators. She was ash before Mycroft had a chance to look at her.

Finger prints and DNA were a match to Carolyn. Just to be certain Mycroft had the ash checked. The DNA and bone fragments were a match to Carolyn as well. There had been no sign of embryonic tissue or bones so when Carolyn was killed there was no baby inside her. Or maybe she had just lied about the baby, maybe she had never been pregnant after all? Had she just said that crack about being a horrible father just to hurt him? After a while that was what Mycroft had gone with because it was easier to live with than to wonder if he had a child somewhere waiting for him, or if the child that should have been his had died with its mother.

Looking back now, it should have been an instant red flag when two months later a birth certificate was found naming a child of Anne and Andrew's born around that time. Mycroft blamed that on his grieving mind, still blaming Anne for what happened even though it was him who had manufactured the situation. He often blamed her because it made him feel better when he realized that he hadn't quite mourned Carolyn or the child, in fact he hadn't been that affected by the loss. Was it tragic? Yes. Was he a changed man because of it? No.

Finding Marie. Seeing Marie. He should have seen himself in her. The black hair and vivid blue eyes had thrown him off, so much like Sherlock's, he should have realized that those traits ran in his family and it was only by sheer unfortunate luck that Mycroft had taken after their plain and hairless-early-in-life father. It was the superior intellect, she could have never inherited that from Sherlock, as soon as her smarts had become apparent he should have known that she was his. And the feelings, the ones he couldn't place or understand, the instincts kicking in that he didn't know he had. His body had subconsciously recognized his progeny and sought to protect and nurture it. Had he not thought he was incapable of something so basic and human he would have gotten it a lot quicker.

Why had he been blind to this? Was it because he also saw Anne in every movement? In the way the girl danced, in her favourite song or her tendency to hum it every time she was concentrating, in her favourite food, in her favourite books and definitely in the defiance in her eyes. Was it simply because he didn't trust Anne and that he thought she could take his daughter and turn her against him? But the sheer fact that Anne had taken her in the first place as some sort of revenge against Mycroft should have been proof enough that Marie was his. She wouldn't have gone for a niece, she kept Marie, she raised Marie as hers to spite Mycroft and that alone was proof that Marie was definitely his child.

He could see Carolyn in her too. In the shape of her eyes, in the smile she wore when she was happy, in the laughter and the choice of clothing. Anne hadn't imposed the Peppercraft anger and all the evil family traits on Marie. She had raised Marie to be like Carolyn, soft spoken and gentle. She had raised Marie to be like Mycroft, cool, detached and brilliant. But she had also raised her like herself, with fire and spunk and the sense of loyalty that ran deeper then bone and nerves.

Anne had fooled him again. She had been one step ahead again and Mycroft hated to admit it. But that didn't change the situation. Marie was his. Marie was in trouble. And treason be damned he was getting her back even if he lost his job, and his power and his money and ended up in jail.


	4. Chapter 4

The Secret Child

 **AvalonReeseFanFics**

 _A/N: Here's the next little bit. I'm almost finished this one, this story is technically going to end by chapter 6. There might be some little fluff pieces that come later. Tell me if there's anything in particular you'd like to read. I'd like to hear from my readers._

Chapter 4: Consequences

* * *

 _10:52pm - Christmas Day 2013 – Abandoned warehouse by the Thames_

She had been there all afternoon. From the very moment she was snatched Marie spent all her energy screaming and fighting the best way an eight year old raised by a trained assassin knew how. And while she had gotten a few hits and bites in they had beaten her badly for her uncooperative behaviour. Her face hurt and she was certain they had fractured her arm when they twisted it. But she hadn't stopped screaming, she just stopped screaming for Mycroft.

The first time Marie was in a hostage situation she was four and a half. She didn't quite remember it, but she did remember fast food burgers and coloring books. It wasn't long a wait before her mom and dad burst through the door. The second time Marie knew a bit more, being six this time. She tried to get good looks at her kidnapper's faces, timed the TV shows she watched, and made certain to keep a wary eye on the windows so she knew what time of day it was at all times. She knew it only took Annie and Andy Ashton less than six hours to find her, storm the place and have her back in their secret home drinking hot cocoa with marshmallows.

Her third hostage situation, last year, had been planned. Her parents let that creepy old man grab her and leverage her for some favours. Marie was to figure out where the vaults were and when she did she was to report to her mom. She had constant contact with the family, Aunt Lyra had made sure of that. She had hacked everything in that house, from the computers to the coffee machine. The freaking roomba used to follow Marie around the house, her family's way of keeping tabs on her.

The secondary plan was that since Sherlock had just recently gotten onto his trail at some point she'd come in contact with the Holmes family and that all it would take was one look at her and they both would know what she was. Which was a Holmes, of course. You see Marie had wanted to meet her father, and this was the most complicated and indirect was Annie could think of to get her to meet him. Marie still didn't know why it had to be this way but it had something to do with the two of them really really not liking one another.

This time, the fourth time, it wasn't planned, she had no contact with the family, no little vacuum following her around and nothing to rely on. She had expected that, like her adoptive family, Mycroft would come in guns blazing and rescue her. That dream lasted all but an hour. Since he had never seemed quite that big on violence and she had never seen him with a gun Marie lowered her expectations and assumed he was in the process of planning some huge operation that would involve a lot of the Queen's special agents. That dream lasted two hours. Marie knew better then to assume that Mycroft would just bring whatever national secret these men were talking about in their thick Russian accents and half English-half Russian sentences so she could go home, he wasn't about to risk his job for her and she wouldn't want him to. That was a lie, she did, she totally did, if it meant she could return to his house, or John and Mary's, or Sherlock's, or even to the Met for some hot cocoa. She'd even drink it without the marshmallows.

After 5 hours Marie assumed she could just get out on her own. She had the ability to get out of anything Magnussen had but her in. Had escaped several medium to high security prisons. These men weren't as patient or as kind, nor were they getting paid to take care of her. She got out once and they hand cuffed her to the chair. When she got out twice that was when they twisted her arm until she felt it snap. She stopped trying to get out after that.

8 hours into the whole ordeal and Marie was screaming not for Mycroft or for Daddy which would forever be the name she held for Andrew. She was screaming for mommy. Not just because she wanted to see Annie more than anything, but because that was the code. If Aunt Lyra was sweeping any sort of camera or anything with a listen device like a phone she could hear it and they would come for her.

It was now 12 hours into this whole mess. Eight minutes away from 13 hours. Annie hadn't come, Mycroft hadn't come, her arm was in agony, her voice hoarse and her stomach rumbling. The men hadn't given her food, which was mighty rude of them considering they had ruined her day. She didn't have a proper washroom so she had been forced to pee in a bucket but that hadn't gone well and now it felt like she had wet herself. She wanted to go home. Not to Uncle John and Aunt Mary's. Not to Uncle Sherlock's or to Mycroft's. She wanted her real home, with her adoptive but somehow realer family. She wanted to see her younger sister and brother again, she wanted to see the triplets, she wanted to argue with them and get into fights. She wished she never asked to meet her father, never asked to be a Holmes.

She had been happy as an Ashton, even if she wasn't one really they never once made her feel like she wasn't. They had loved her even though she was the daughter of Annie's arch-nemesis; they had loved her even though she looked barely like them and acted nothing like them. They didn't care that she was horrible with a gun and terrible at self defence. They didn't care that she didn't have great stamina or amazing balance. They helped her learn when it became clear that her mind was as advanced as her real father's and they hadn't gotten angry with her when she decided to reject their kindness and demand to be with her blood relatives.

Marie had thought that if she had met her father, had learned what he was like she could better understand herself. She wasn't very empathetic, but Annie had always said that was good. Annie was temperamental, her anger got the better of her, she had always liked that Marie was detached from her emotions unlike her. Annie had called it a strength that was both gift and curse. She had thought that if her father knew that she was his flesh and blood that he'd love her in a way that Annie and Andrew had, unconditionally, but Mycroft was a cold man with no feelings and Marie didn't want to be like him anymore.

He didn't care about her. He wasn't coming for her. And he sure as hell wasn't going to give any codes for her either. She should have never gone looking for him.

It hit twelve on the dot. Thirteen hours in this hell hole. Marie has cradled her injured arm in her lap. She tried not to cry because Astons don't cry when they're scared. They're brave and they laugh in the face of danger. But she's tired and hungry and hurt so she can't stop the tears flowing down her face.

But at twelve on the dot, the sound of muffled popping fills the air, like popcorn in a microwave but louder. Suddenly screams can be heard and soon the popping can't be heard over the explosions and agonal cries. Marie sits up straighter and starts tugging on her handcuff. She doesn't know what to expect when the door opens, but she knows that someone has finally come.

* * *

 _12:02am – December 26 2013 – Mycroft's car – On the Move_

The men who have Marie never made it to the drop at 12am. Mycroft is worried. He didn't want to use extreme measures, he wanted to play it safe and get her back but they never came for the codes he has in a manila envelope hidden in the inside breast pocket of his thick winter jacket.

He brought Sherlock with him because he wanted support. His brother had gone without question. If he was surprised with Mycroft's actions he had not shown it, just like he had not shown his surprise when Mycroft announced that Marie was his daughter and not Sherlock's. Luckily he also made no comment on how long it had taken Mycroft to figure it out nor did he ask if he had figured it out or was told. Mycroft wasn't proud of his answers, and he didn't want to admit his failures to his brother even if Sherlock already knew.

As Mycroft predicted Sherlock had known and perhaps even indulged the game, Mycroft wondered if Anne knew that his little brother would do that. Had she counted on Sherlock's complacent silence? If she hadn't she had been in luck.

Mycroft had tracked the Russian agents who had taken Marie to a warehouse earlier that evening. It wasn't very hard and took very little resources. But it had left him on the horns of a dilemma. Had he thought that he could get her out without any chance that she might be a casualty he would have had his men storm in and bring her out to him, there would have been no question about that. Problem was he couldn't guarantee where she was in the building, and no way to get eyes on her or her holding cell without putting he in danger. There had been no guarantee that he could get her out without any harm coming to her. So he went to the drop spot. His plan was to arrest them, have a team ready to storm into their building to get Marie waiting for his word, another team ready in the alley with him to intercept the men and get Marie out of harm's way if she was brought with them and then take Marie home with him and never let her out of his sight again.

When they didn't show up after two minutes Mycroft knew that something was wrong. What cemented his fear was the radio silence he got from the team he left in the area that had direct instructions to go in if it looked like she might be in danger. He pulled Sherlock into his car and directed his driver to take them into the warehouse by the Thames. He tried several times to hail the team at the warehouse. He couldn't reach them.

Sherlock said absolutely nothing to him during this nerve wracking drive. The whole drive Mycroft fidgeted him, which was unlike him. He played with his phone, he tapped his foot, and he sighed and tapped his fingers on any surface he found. Sherlock hadn't fidgeted once though he had been staring quietly out the window the whole time, most likely thinking this all through.

Mycroft had a lot of questions, but his fear had taken him by hold and he had no ability to ask the questions on his mind. His only desire was to find Marie and hold her and never let her go. The sentiment was ridiculous and laughable and yet it was sitting there in his chest causing him to have shortness of breath and frequent chest pains. If he had to guess he was having a panic attack, one directly linked to the worry that something had happened to Marie. It was an irrational fear, there was no proof that she wasn't fine but he couldn't get the idea out of his head. The short ride to the Thames ended in a hellish blaze. Quite literally as the warehouse that was supposed to be housing Marie had gone up in flames.

The car stopped and Mycroft was out. Ignoring the cries of his brother he rushed into the fire screaming for Marie on the top of his lungs.

* * *

 _7:27am – December 26 2013 – Burnt down warehouse by the Thames_

In Mycroft's initial search he didn't find Marie but the evidence of a very bloody fight. Bodies everywhere, blood on the floor and painting the walls. All the evidence charring before his eyes. His mind took all the details in of course, he could put the scene back together in his mind with ease but that had not been his main concern when he went in there and the desire to find Marie had left pieces of the warehouse during the blaze blurry as he hadn't paid much attention to them. The fire was put out quickly and then there was a second search. The bodies were pulled out and examined. All had been killed with malicious intent. Three hits or more in each body. Some of these men had come up against the assailant and came out with scarred faces and a lot of broken bones.

The team who had responded to this brutal attack had all died because of it. Not a single one had made it. Even the one man who stayed behind as eyes for the mission had gotten a bullet to the head in his crow's nest. The fact that they had radios and hadn't managed to get in contact with anyone meant that someone had knocked out all chance of communication not just for the Russian's in the building but for his men as well.

Mycroft knew the calling card.

After a few hours after the secondary search he sent in another team. This one a forensic, best in the country all pulled in especially for this crime by Mycroft himself. Yes the building was still smouldering but they were the best and they were the only one who could tell him what happened in that building.

Their reply was what he had expected for the most part. A small team had gone in. They estimated two people, possibly three. At least two people went in as someone else laid heavy fire as a distraction, they had big bullets they had gone through solid brick wall surprisingly enough. That sort of ammo was military only or completely experimental. They had made short work of the first five men. There was evidence of a holding cell, handcuffs, a makeshift bed. It was that room that held the surprise.

It had one body, presumably the leader. Two types of blood found. A test needed to be done. Mycroft had a feeling that he knew who it belonged to. There had been an intermittent trail of blood that led out the back and to the river. A boat was most likely the get-away vehicle. The blood was in spatters, the person bleeding judging by the pattern had been carried.

That feeling in Mycroft's stomach, this sudden certainty he was desperate to prove wrong, had solidified. He refused to show any emotion.

He told them to canvas the hospitals, the assailants had an injured party, badly judging by the trail of blood, they would have to go to a hospital. Sherlock had stayed with him, had told him that whatever had happened he was certain Marie was fine, that the worst case scenario probably wasn't the scenario that played out here. Both of them knew he was lying. The probability of things going exactly as he had pictured it, with the evidence now supporting it, was at least 87%. Still Mycroft found himself clinging to that 13% chance that it hadn't.

But, if Mycroft was correct, Anne had come, Anne had done what she thought Mycroft incapable of. Anne and her friends had gone into that building despite the risks to his child, and in the process one of them had gotten injured, badly injured. If he put more thought into it he'd see that it could have been no one else other than Anne and Andrew, that it was Ian who had waited in the boat for the get-away, Natalie who had laid the heavy fire, Lyra who had blocked all communication and Aidan who had torched the place. His mind was on finding Marie, trying to figure out which hospital they would go to.

He got his answer. Three hours later. It was now the early hours of the morning. He got a call. There had been an incident at St. Bart's. A woman had gotten in, commandeered a surgeon and a surgery, no one had been aware that this impromptu surgery had been going on until the woman went crazy. The patient had died on the table, the woman had lost her mind, nearly killed the poor surgeon she had held at gun point.

The patient had been a child.

* * *

 _7:34am – December 26 2013 – St. Bart's hospital room_

The surgeon had been through hell and back. His face looked like it had met a brick wall recently, he had lacerations up and down his arms and apparently extensive damage to his ribs. He had positively identified Anne and Andrew, no one else, there was no video feed, meaning Lyra had been involved of course.

Instead of asking the man to tell him who the patient was, Mycroft asked him to start from the beginning. The surgeon had been on break, completely alone in the break room. He wasn't certain how or when Anne appeared but when she did she had a gun to his head. She watched him get ready and seemed completely rational about the whole thing other than she was covered in blood and crying. He said her hands were shaking and he thought her to be nervous, that this had been her first time in this sort of situation. Mycroft knew that Anne was scared.

When he got to the surgery room there was a child on the operating table, gunshot wound, it had clipped her side. A man was with her, he was a rugged sort of man, sandy blonde hair, reddish stubble on his jaw, he too was covered in blood, all down the front of his cammo shirt. He had been trying to comfort the child. She had been barely conscious, she had started convulsing, and the doctor had had to sedate her so he could work on her injury.

At this point, Mycroft had to turn away. His mind was picturing it all, and while part of him was grateful that Andrew had stayed with Marie, had been comforting her, Mycroft couldn't help but feel like it should have been him at her side and not Andrew. He didn't want this in his mind, these vivid images of his child bleeding out, shaking on a metal table, her body desperately trying to keep her alive and failing so Sherlock—who had come with him—continued with the questions.

The surgeon continued. Anne didn't lower the gun once, not even when the Doctor insisted he would help no matter what weapon she held and Andrew had demanded that the gun be put away so the Doctor could work unstressed. He had pulled the bullet out, stitched up the bleed and that should have been it. But the girl never woke up, her heart stopped while he was closing her up and he couldn't resuscitate her. It was then that Anne had lost it. She had screamed at him to do something, kept telling him to save her baby. When he couldn't she had picked up a spare scalpel and started slashing at him, and when that wasn't enough she beat him senseless.

At some point Andrew pulled her off of the surgeon and whispered something in her ear. Anne had dropped the scalpel and wiped her tears. The two of them took the body and what seemed like an eternity later someone found him collapsed in surgery and called for help.

Sherlock shoots a glance at his brother who is still staring at a wall trying to control his breathing and the images running rampant in his mind. He pulls a photo out of the pocket of his coat. Mycroft wondered if Sherlock had brought that with him or if he just always had a photo of his niece in his pocket. He holds it out to the surgeon who nods to him.

Though he knew the answer to the unasked question Mycroft felt his heart break with the words: "Yeah... that was the girl..."

Anger suddenly swelled up in Mycroft's chest. He couldn't describe why he was so angry he just knew that he was, maybe this was what real grief was. Loosing someone when you had the power to save them, knowing you'll never see someone again, someone who had meant so much to him even if he hadn't quite known it yet. Mycroft storms out of the room, unable to take it in there anymore.

He finds himself wandering the halls until he's in the surgery. It's been cordoned off as it's now a crime scene. The CSI techs who are in there looking for evidence and clues for god-knows what scatter at the look on his face, he's glad he didn't have to ask them. He's looking at the table. The table where his daughter's blood had pooled, where a man, who had been more a father to her than Mycroft ever had, had held her as she bled out, where she had died. The tabled is smudged with fingerprints, the marks of the people who had been there with her, people who weren't him but were better than him in every conceivable way.

He's not numb, he's feeling too much. Wave after wave. Anger, guilt, grief, and even more anger, it comes in crushing unstoppable waves over and over again until he's doubled over breathing raggedly and trying to control it all. For the first time he's not in control of his own body and it is complete agony. He screams. The sound guttural and animal like, it rips through his body, the only sound he is capable of making now. He barely recognizes it as his own but his throat is burning so he knows this wounded sound has come from him.

His phone rings. No number. _Anne._

He answers it quickly, his voice shakes. He no longer cares if Anne knew that she had elicited feelings in him. "Where is she?" he asks. Anne has already won whatever battle she had started and they both knew it.

Anne's own voice is shaking. He knows her, she's not acting, her throat is thick with tears, like his is. "She was just a little girl," she whispers when she finds the strength to speak. "She was just a little girl who wanted to meet her father."

Mycroft is at a loss for words. Anne sounds so broken. He knew she was capable of great anger but she sounds devastated by this, just like he suddenly realizes he is well. His voice is hoarse, his eyes are stinging. He hasn't cried since he was a child, but he's about to start blubbering. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was afraid!" Anne snaps. "I thought you wouldn't accept her. That because I was involved with her that you'd cast her aside and refuse to accept her as your own. She just wanted to meet you and I thought you'd let our feud get in the way. You loved mind games so I gave you one and the prize at the end was a daughter. But she was a child, she was a little girl who wanted to feel like she belonged, she wasn't a game."

The anger is back, Mycroft is shaking with it, he has tears streaming down his face but he hasn't completely realized that yet. "You made her the game!"

"I loved her! She was my child, I was there when she took her first breath, first steps, and said her first words. I held her at night when she had nightmares. I got her her very first violin, I kissed every scrape and cut better and when she wanted to leave me and become a Holmes I helped her!" Anne is shouting now, her voice cracks when she gets this angry, he can practically hear her tears. "I trusted you to take care of her but you don't care about anyone other than yourself. Your job and power meant more to you than your child and now she's dead."

There's a brief silence. Mycroft realizes that Anne has no idea that he agreed to meet them, agreed to give them codes for the life of his child. That it was Anne who had caused Marie to die with her impetuous nature. "I was willing to trade it all for her Anne, don't you dare assume you know what I was willing to give up. Now... where is my child?"

Anne scoffs on the other end. She doesn't believe him. Mycroft finds that he does care. He worries she won't answer him.

"She's with her mother now."

And then the line goes dead.

* * *

 _9:11am – December 26 2013 – High Gate Cemetery West Side Mausoleum_

Mycroft and Sherlock walked shoulder to shoulder silently through the gravestones to get to this building. It was more recent then the others. It was where the ashes of Carolyn had been housed, once Mycroft has determined that the remains were in fact that of Carolyn Crawford and had released them to her family. It was a family plot, visited often by Carolyn's mother and by one of Mycroft's assistant with clear directions to always keep flowers on this particular display.

Sherlock has said nothing to comfort his brother. Mycroft has refused to show his brother how badly affected by this he was though he assumed that Sherlock knew. He had dried his tears by the time he had returned to Sherlock and told him where there were to go next. He was grateful his brother hadn't tried to say anything to him, he wasn't sure he could handle it if he did. Though Mycroft knew Sherlock had probably heard the howling scream that came from him in the surgery Sherlock made no comment about it. Today was the day Mycroft would find himself forever grateful for Sherlock's silence.

They found the correct drawer. New flowers were covering it, red and white roses. With shaking hands he pulled out the drawer and found that beside the urn that held Carolyn there was another smaller one.

This one was all white and in gold embossed letters on the lid read: "Marilotta Carolyn Ashton-Crawford-Holmes 2005-2013"

Her full name. Anne had been decent enough to include his, somewhere deep down he knew she would, that she would give Marie what neither of them could. Mycroft pulled the urn out holding it gingerly like he thought it might shatter in his hands. This was all he had left of the brilliant little girl who had been so sweet and understanding with him.

"What will you do now?" Sherlock asks breaking the heavy silence between them. It is very perceptive him to realize that Mycroft did in fact have a plan. It occurred to him that maybe Sherlock needed comforting of his own, he had spent more time with the child then Mycroft ever had, he had played the role of dutiful uncle/father quite well while he held it.

"She took her from me. She took away my right to bury my own child, to be there at her time of need. I had a plan, had she coordinated with me Marie would be alive. Her death is on Anne's hands and I will make her pay for it."

Mycroft turns to leave. The urn still in his hands, he is unwilling to let go all he has left. The last remnant of the woman he had once loved, and the child that was the accumulation of all the good the two had had once upon a time. He wasn't going to rest until he made Anne pay for what she did to him. This mind game was now a war and he was going to stop at nothing to win this time.


	5. Chapter 5

The Secret Child

 **AvalonReeseFanfics**

 _A/N: So we're getting close to the proposed end. I should be done in the next chapter. Only 6. That's pretty good for me. Anyway, I did have other chapters planned, little fluff pieces for later one in the future so if you'd like to read those please tell me!_

Chapter 5: Aftermath

* * *

 _2 days later_

Mycroft sits in his office. He has his people scouring the world looking for Anne and Andrew or any of their close friends. He has their mugshots out, their files scattered across the desk. Their faces stare up at him with smug looks as if they're taunting them. _Find me if you can_ , they seemed to say.

Everyone in Anne's adoptive family is pretty general in their descriptions. Anne with her long black hair could easily blend into a crowd. Andrew stood out only when he wanted to, his blonde hair and chiselled looks could easily be disguised with a scarf, a hat and a dressed down outfit. Ian and Lyra were both blonde as well, a white-blonde, they wore glasses they didn't need and they always had children with them when they travelled. Never the correct amount, like two, or three but not triplets. Natalie was a nondescript Asian. No funky hair colors or tattoos, her hair was medium length and the only thing that set her apart from any other Asian in the area was her temper. Worse than Anne's, Natalie was constantly getting into arguments and fights. Even Aidan was plain. A short Italian man with dark brown hair and a crooked grin.

On the outside they looked normal, if one passed them on the street one wouldn't give them a second glance. All of them were masters at evading capture. All of them could stay hidden for years without resurfacing if they wanted to. Mycroft had his work cut out for him if he wanted to find them any time soon.

The truth was he was hiding. The results had come back from the DNA specialists within the MI6 team. Best in the world and not from the country called in on short notice for this. His family and he would supposed you'd have to call them friends at this point had all been waiting for the results. Were the ashes really Marie or had Anne made it all up? They had taken strands of hair from Marie's hairbrush, his DNA, the DNA from Carolyn from the old casefile Mycroft had told everyone had been filed but really hadn't. Okay well it had… just in a secure place where he could visit it whenever he felt like.

Not only was Marie's DNA very much half his and half Carolyn's, her DNA matched what was found in the ashes. He had forwarded the results to Sherlock trusting him to tell the others and then left it at that. He went straight to his office, unable to face anything or anyone else. He needed solitude. Both to catch Anne and to deal with the crippling disappointment that filled the void that had been this beacon of hope that she might yet still be alive.

There was a knock on his door that Mycroft didn't answer. He was too busy and too crabby to talk to anyone at the current moment and almost everyone he worked with knew this when he nearly snapped their noses off that morning when he showed up. When the person let themselves in he was outraged. How dare they let themselves into his office while he was in the middle of planning revenge? His head whips up to yell at the person and finds the Queen has appeared, has let herself into his office and is now in the process of closing the door.

Mycroft is on his feet immediately, the corgis that follow her around are bounding around the office haphazardly. He's afraid to step out from behind his desk in case he steps on one. She turns to him and her smile is a sympathetic one Mycroft can't help but cringe at it. He knows what she's going to say before she says it.

"So Marie was your child," she starts. "Did you lie out of supposed necessity or did someone lie to you about her parentage?"

For a moment Mycroft is taken aback. It surprises him that the Queen is merely concerned with why he hadn't told her the truth about Marie. "Someone lied to me," he tells her. "I should have known though. I should have seen it."

The Queen picks a chair to sit in. Mycroft notices that the Queen holds a thin box in her hands. He really hopes that it isn't for him. "And the codes you took to trade for her?" she asks.

Mycroft sits as soon as the Queen is comfortable. He stares icily at her now, wondering if she's here to reprimand him, to remind him that he was chosen because he wouldn't dare trade the Nation's secrets for something as silly as a child's life, even if the child was his own. Mycroft had always thought that if need be this was what he would do, but when the time came he went with his primal instinct to get her back safely.

"They were never taken out of their files, I merely remembered them. The file I created was destroyed, if that's what you're worried about," he tells her.

The Queen nods. "There isn't a thing in the world I wouldn't give if I thought it would save my grandchildren," she agrees. "It's a pity it didn't have a happy ending. You know in most circles it is expected that the grieving parent take a few days off, a month even."

Mycroft isn't sure if what to say now, he has no intention of taking work off to be alone with these new emotions and the look on his face says that clearly without the need for words. He says nothing but instead stares down at the faces of the family that had been Marie's. The family he was hunting down. Was it really because he blamed Anne for what happened to her, or did he just blame Anne for having more of his child then he did? He didn't want to analyze it even though he knew that everyone else had.

"I brought you something."

Oh here we go. Mycroft can barely keep his eyes from rolling. He tries to smile for the Queen as she hands him the box she had resting in her lap. He tries to be enthusiastic when he opens it up but finds that the gift truly takes his breath away regardless of how much he didn't want it.

It's a picture of Marie.

The very first day that she met the Queen, when Mycroft had chided her for not staying where she was supposed to. Her hair still short and growing out, tufts of it shooting out of her scalp the way Sherlock's did when he played with it too much. The Queen's crown sits lopsided on her head, practically covering one of her eyes, she's sitting in the throne, the Queen standing to her side. Marie's smile is large and joyous.

Mycroft finds himself hiccupping. He was unaware that he had begun fighting the tears back, unaware that the tears had even come. She looked so happy. And he hadn't been a part of that. He had tried to take that away.

"I couldn't find one of you and her," the Queen says. "But that one was my favourite so I thought you might like it as well. I actually have that one sitting on one of my mantels."

Mycroft didn't doubt there wasn't any pictures of him and Marie. He had always been certain to be away from her, to be distant. He hadn't want to play even the role of doting Uncle. Marie had inherited so many, Uncle John, Uncle Greg, she didn't need a third. This picture reminded him of all the guilt he harboured.

Still he put the picture on his desk, beyond the field of files, almost at the edge. Already it felt like his office had been lit up, just by her smile alone. A complete physical impossibility but it felt that way anyway. He thanked the Queen who offered her official sympathies and made her way to the door.

She paused in the doorway though and half turned to him. "And Mycroft, while I don't think catching the Ashtons will quell your grief, if that is what you need to do then I approve the resources you need to do so."

Mycroft felt as if tears were going to well up in his eyes again. He thanked the Queen again. Anne was officially screwed.

* * *

 _2 months later_

Anne has officially gotten away from Mycroft. He thought he had her pinned down in a small island in the Caribbean, a little place called Tortola. The only way out was either by small air craft like a sea plane or by boat. She had taken neither but gotten away from him regardless.

Mycroft returned to London downtrodden and angry. But he wasn't going to give up. Instead of returning to his London home to get some well needed rest, Mycroft returns to his office determined to get a lead—any lead—on where Anne could have gone now. He is surprised to find that he has missed quite a few emails.

Several from Sherlock. They detail surveillance photos that might be of Anne. Newspaper clippings of crimes that might be her work. Details about her other hide outs and clues that might lead to more. Things Mycroft has all seen before most with better detail but he is touched his brother had and still is trying.

There are more from John and Mary. They speak of obsession and worry. They worry he's derailed. They worry that this obsession with Anne is a mere deflection of his grief. They speak of counselors, of people he could talk to. He is not touched that they care, he is annoyed that they are still speaking of this. They allude to a gift that they wish to give him if he would just come calling. He refuses to go around to them knowing that the gift is the worldly possessions of his child and he doesn't think he has the strength to look at those things now, useless in a box, nor does he want the pity in their gaze as they try to talk to him about psychiatrists.

There is a single email from Mrs. Hudson, fairly demanding him to come around for tea. She too will try to mother him into talking about his grief. Several from Det. Lestrade, some of sympathy, wondering when/if there will be a funeral he may be invited to, but most are about queer cases and information on Sherlock's wellbeing.

But it's the one email in his junk folder that he nearly misses. The sender is encrypted, it reads as spam. The subject speaks of male enhancement to get the singles close in the area that want to talk to him.

It contains one line:

"Blame me if you want but this is why I went in."

There is a sound file attached. It's been manipulated, obviously cut out. There are time stamps in between the cut sounds. It is of a child screaming. First in pain, then for Mycroft, pain again, then for Anne, then in pain and then lastly for anyone. It takes him a while to realize that this is Marie's last moments. That while there was radio static on his end Anne had listened to it all.

She heard the child's screams, those terribly agonizingly painful screams, the pleading for help for her parents to come save her, and she had reacted with a mother's instinct. Even though he knew his child was gone he could feel his body reacting in that parental way, the desire to reach into this sound byte and soothe her is burning through his body. He can't find the heart to turn it off, he listens to it on loop, tears streaming down his face. He's sobbing uncontrollably in a matter of seconds unable to contain the raw emotion that is literally raging through his body.

He doesn't remember when exactly he lost control, but when he comes out of the black void his office is destroyed, looking as if tornado came through and destroyed everything of value. His desk has been flipped over, his laptop smashed and now stuttering through Marie's screams for him or Anne, the files he had have been scattered some pages ripped, pictures torn to pieces, and somehow his chair has gone through the window. The only thing that remains whole is the picture the Queen gave him of Marie and he's relieved.

Mycroft concentrates on leveling his breathing. This break in his calm and cool demeanour proves that the Watsons' were correct and that he is in fact spiralling out of control. He still won't be seeking counsel from a psychiatrist any time soon, but he will be more careful from now on.

* * *

 _4 months later_

He almost had her. He had found her in Prague, got news of her visiting a doctor, something about a child needing a cast off. Mycroft didn't put much thought into which child, he didn't care what the story was, just that she was there and he had a chance. She was in sniper sights, she could have been taken out had Natalie not gotten to the sniper first. Mycroft was still livid about this missed opportunity, this missed chance for revenge. Anne and her family have once again gone. As far as Mycroft is aware there is no reason for Anne to resurface now. He doubts she will unless she gets bored and feels like taunting him again.

He returns to his London home, he needs to drink, to sleep, to recharge before he starts the next hunt but instead finds his brother and his brother's friends waiting for him. He notes that John and Mary have stashed a box in a corner of his study. He doesn't ask them what's in it, he knows that it all belongs to Marie, and they gratefully don't point its existence out to him.

"We've come because we're worried," Sherlock starts and the lecture begins. They tell him about how his grief and obsession has consumed him. That he might be taking things too far with Anne, an attempt on her life isn't warranted and that kind of revenge can be going too far.

He half tunes them out, not interested in what they're saying. He doesn't care if they think he's lost it, maybe he has, but for some reason he feels a drift in the world as if he has nothing worth loosing anymore when that isn't true at all.

Mary suddenly shoves something into his hands. It's a book, a photo album. Mycroft finds his hands shaking. He knows before he opens it that these are all pictures of Marie. And he's right. Mary has filled the book with every picture she could find. Pictures of Marie at recitals, capturing that enthralled smile on her face that she got whenever she played. Pictures of her at crime scenes with John, Sherlock and Lestrade, the one with her in the bobby's hat and that lopsided grin makes him chuckle. More of her playing in the park, secret snapshots she didn't know were coming as she played around with the other kids. Pictures of her and Molly performing experiments together. Pictures of her and Mrs. Hudson having a tea party. Both dressed up as if they were having tea with the Queen, fancy hats, feathered boas and all.

"I couldn't find one of you and her," Mary tells him. Once again Mycroft is not surprised but he is twinged with regret. He wishes that just once, there was a picture of him and her that he had stopped being cool and distant just once and someone had thought to capture it. But that had never happened.

He thanks his friends. He tells them he will reconsider this obsession of his though he is lying through his teeth. They reluctantly leave him to sleep and he does, with the photo album under his arm.

* * *

 _3 months later_

She damn near killed him.

He had flushed her out. Compromised all her known contacts, and when the criminal ones didn't work he went after the ones she used for the kids, dentist appointments, doctor checkups. At some point someone in her clan would need something and he was rewarded with a dentist in Madrid. An emergency cap needed to be put on. He had gotten on a plane the second he got the call that she would be coming in.

Mycroft lies back in his hospital bed, surprised. Gunshot wound to the chest, it missed anything vital but it was definitely a warning. Anne wasn't playing games with him anymore, if he came after her again she'd kill him.

He honestly wasn't expecting it. Anne had been violent with him all of his life but she had never been lethal before. Something had happened to her, something to make her more volatile, more desperate to protect her family, more willing to be lethal despite the silent understanding that they would never try to do any serious physical harm to one another. A truce they had since they were children to appease Carolyn who cried at everything.

Maybe the death of a child did that to you. Maybe loosing Marie had shoved Anne over the edge, maybe she was desperate to protect her family from him because she couldn't bear to loose anyone else. Mycroft wanted to believe that this was the reason but something was bugging him and not letting him fully believe it. Though it was the most logical conclusion it seemed too cookie-cutter to be something Anne would do or feel. She had never been predictable before, why would she start now? In fact he had deduced that Anne would become more erratic and even sloppy. It seemed strange that she swung in the complete opposite direction.

Mycroft, for the sake of his health, decided to give Anne a break for a bit. He was going to get himself better, give up on the chase for Anne for the moment and when she least expected it he was going to start up and capture her. He just needed the element of surprise.

He had fully planned to tell his family and friends when they undoubtedly came to visit but first he had a few things to clear from his schedule with his secretary. She came in, briefcase in one hand and smart phone in the other and sat down beside his bed.

They got through the whole clearing Destroying-Anne's-Life from his schedule and then he cleared times for his family and friends to come visit. She then paused, when she should have been getting up to leave.

"I know I shouldn't have, but I have something for you," she said. She dug through her briefcase and came back with a picture frame. 8x10, a large one. "You see, I took a picture once, one I didn't think you'd approve of, but now, I think you might appreciate it."

Oh god, was she giving him framed nudes? She was a beautiful, clever, young girl, but Mycroft was not interested in his secretary in that way. Clearly as he keep calling her secretary instead of by her name, or at least assistant which was the non-sexist term of the position. She hands him the picture frame and Mycroft prepares himself mentally to say something like "Thank you, but I must decline," and finds that he has no need to.

It is a picture of him and Marie. It has obviously been retouched, set in a black and white. She must have snuck this picture on the very first night he had met her. It was in the back of his hired car, Marie had fallen asleep, her head resting on his leg. He had one hand casually draped over her shoulder as he found she was less restless when he did. He was leaning against the car door looking out at the lights flashing by weighing the options that he was presented with now that Marie was in his life and what he could use her for. Obviously as a way to get to Anne, but then again if she really was a Holmes he couldn't just let Anne take her back.

He had thought that there were no pictures of him and Marie, and he had been right until this moment. He felt tears in his eyes and even though he didn't want to cry in front of his assistant, he did.

"Thank you," he says. "Thank you for this."

She seems unnerved by his reaction, but she nods her welcome to him and then takes her leave. Mycroft looks at that picture, the only picture of he and Marie together in existence, for what seems like hours. He knows that there will be many copies made of this picture. One for his wallet, one to put in his office at home, but this one was going to go to work with him. It was going to sit on his desk for all eternity to mark that one moment he had been a good father. Even if it hadn't lasted that long.

* * *

 _3 months later_

Anne is back.

 _Let's finish this. 51-31-9, 0-7-36_

Mycroft isn't stupid. He knows what those are. Coordinates. They land him in the British Museum. It's very obviously a trap. The British Museum was child's play to someone like Anne, she could get in and out in under ten minutes and no one would know she was there until morning when the artifact in question was noticed to be missing. No. Mycroft isn't going to play her games anymore.

His first act of business is to go to Sherlock, who is in his apartment with John who is taking some time off from his bustling practice and his amazing family to keep Sherlock company. Has Sherlock admitted that he's lonely and misses John's reassuring presence in his apartment? No. But since Marie's death, which Sherlock had been taking hard—but not as hard as Mycroft—John had been sure to visit at least once a week.

Sherlock concurred on the coordinates, agreed that they were for the British Museum and that it was almost certainly a trap of some sort.

Then came the follow up questions. Why now? Why was Anne doing this now? What could have upset her enough to throw down this gauntlet? Was she even in the country? This is followed by Mycroft and Sherlock bouncing back theories and well-aimed questions to shoot each other's theories down.

Mycroft hadn't gotten any notifications that she had entered the country at any seaport, airport or rail way. Of course that didn't mean anything, Anne was an expert at camouflage, she wasn't seen unless she wanted to be seen. Had Mycroft done something to upset Anne? Of course not, he had backed off from Anne after she shot him.

"The question is," John says, interrupting their conversation. "What do we do?"

Ah yes, that is the question isn't it? You see, Mycroft has been lying about his hobby. He had told his friends and brother that he had given up the search for Anne and her family but that wasn't strictly true. It hadn't been as fervent as before, but he still searched for her, still had people looking out for her, it was how he knew she hadn't been spotted coming into the UK recently.

John hung up the phone, having finished the conversation with his wife. "She says Anne's been in the country for at least a week."

Well that was certainly distressing. That was more than enough time to plan and put in place a very elaborate trap.

The second step was to determine the level of threat. "Already done," Mycroft tells them. "A MI6 team swept the museum, nothing out of the ordinary, no signs of tampering, or signs of Anne at all."

Sherlock suggests that they take this meeting to his office. If there's nothing awaiting Mycroft at the museum then Anne must have something else planned. The fact that there was nothing to find at the museum is worrying. It means her plans are big, they are multilevel, and Mycroft can't even begin to fathom where or when it will start to go into play.

He opens up the door and it looks like the day when he destroyed his room. The pictures of Marie he had cluttering up his desk are all on the floor, completely smashed to pieces, the carousel he was going to give her is on the floor as well, surprisingly unsmashed but the hidden cache where he had been storing Marie's ashes is empty. He goes to that first, he doesn't need to look but he does anyway and confirms that the white canister is missing.

Sherlock and John stay at the door as they observe the mess. They will have a clear view of the break down Mycroft is going to have over this. Neither of them mention that this has to be Anne's doing, John may not be aware of it but Sherlock most certainly is.

A rock hits his window and when Mycroft goes to look out it he is joined by John and Sherlock. Anne is standing on the Buckingham Palace lawn just in view from his window. She looks like nothing has changed, same long black hair pulled back in a high pony-tail so tight that it must be squeezing her head, same defiant blue eyes. She's dressed in black, black jacket with too many pockets, black leggings, probably made of some high-tech fiber specially made to not tear or rip when rubbing together. She's not out of breath and she doesn't look angry but she does hold up her hand to the window as if showing something to the three men watching her.

John and Sherlock squint to look at it, but Mycroft doesn't have to. As soon as he saw the glittering gold on the white canister he knew it was Marie's ashes.

Anne smirks up at the window and pockets the ashes before turning and running away, only taking a few seconds to disappear from view. John and Sherlock want to talk plans, but Mycroft is not listening, in fact, he's not even there anymore. Mycroft knows he's running at full speed towards what is most likely a trap but he doesn't care. He's going to make Anne pay even if it kills him.


	6. Chapter 6

The Secret Child

 **AvalonReeseFanFics**

 _A/N: So I know I said that this would be the last chapter, but this chapter went a little longer than expected. So there's going to be an epilogue chapter and then it will be marked as completed, but every now and then I'll add more to it, more from when she grows up. Sound good? Thanks for reading everyone! One more chapter!_

Chapter 6: Final Showdown

* * *

Mycroft doesn't know if he's called for back-up, the red has descended and all he can see is Anne's black ponytail swinging back and forth as she sprints. She's ahead of him, running slower than she usual does, just fast enough to evade capture, but slow enough so Mycroft can keep up. She's leading him somewhere and if he wasn't so goddamn mad at her he would have reacted accordingly.

Other things Mycroft didn't know:

Sherlock and John had been in pursuit until sidetracked. A blonde man has pulled them off track, Sherlock knows that this is Ian, Anne's get-away driver. They are now chasing him because he will most likely lead them to Anne's escape route.

Mary had no intentions of being a part of this chase until Natalie appeared out of nowhere and practically abducted her, though Mary had managed to get away. With Natalie chasing her she can't help but feel like she's being herded towards something.

Molly had been in a taxi with a very attractive redish-blonde fellow that she might have thought could replace Sherlock until he put a very well hidden hand gun to her side and told their driver to ignore her destination and take them both to his. Damn her taste in men.

Lestrade was currently chasing Aidan through the London core for the badge Aidan had stolen right off of Lestrade's body.

And Mrs. Hudson had gotten a call from a very nice lady saying that she had won a prize and was to report to the British Museum to pick it up.

All of them were heading towards the British Museum and had no idea. Had Mycroft called for backup like a smart man, he would have, but he hadn't so he had no idea.

* * *

Mycroft runs. She's allowing him to stay close but not letting him catch her. Mycroft can only think of one thing. Getting Marie's ashes back. And if he happens to wring Anne's neck when he finally catches her then she brought it upon herself.

She takes the marble steps two at a time so Mycroft takes them three at a time, but she's still out of reach. The museum is still empty, he doesn't know where the officers went or how both he and Anne got past them but he didn't really care. All that matters to him is the ashes in Anne's pocket.

The quiet of the museum stops him in his tracks. Anne's trap comes back to his mind. She's lured him here for a reason and it finally occurs to him that he no longer has the tactical and advantage.

Anne disappears through a pair of large double doors. It leads to an exhibit that is not ready yet. The report said that everything was still in crates and covered in tarps. Perfect place for an ambush. Mycroft checks his phone. No service. Lyra has cut off his communication to the outside world. He can't even text Sherlock.

Mycroft pauses to fix himself up. He straightens his tie, smooths back his hair and uses his handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead, all while he catches his breath. He wants to seem unflustered when he faces Anne.

He throws the doors open, he tires not to cringe expecting a barrage of bullets, a knife thrown in his direction, to have Anne glaring at him in a smug way. But none of that happens because Anne is no where to be seen.

Mycroft rushed into the room. "No… No… No…" he mutters to himself. He can't possibly have lost her. When he gets into the middle of the room a projector blinks to life and a video starts, projected onto the tarp ahead of him.

It's a video of a younger Anne, 7 to 8 years younger, she holds a baby in her arms and she's smiling as she shows this young baby to whomever is holding the camera. Mycroft figured out quite quickly that the baby must have been Marie. A second projector whirls on. This one to the right of him. This video is of a toddler learning to walk, holding the hands of a very young and happy smiling Andrew Ashton. Then a third projector, this one to the left, a video of a three-year-old, blowing out candles on a birthday cake flanked by Anne and Andrew as they smile and wave for the camera.

The videos change at random intervals. Rolling through the family moments that Mycroft had not been a part of. Marie with her first violin stumbling through her finger placements, Marie holding what must have been the second Ashton child, Marie's frst recital filmed from an audience member's seat, Marie's first shooting lesson. Marie, Marie, Marie! Her smile, missing one tooth. Marie laughing and waving at whoever was holding the camera. Marie on a camping trip, putting down an astrophysics book to make a s'more.

It doesn't take long for Mycroft to break down. He collapses to his knees sobbing. Ho how happy his little girl had been, she hadn't been half as happy with him, in his world. Anne had been right, she had raised Marie as her own with love and her happiness in mind.

"She's just a child, Mickey," Anne says to him. He looks up and she's kneeling in front of him, though he didn't hear her approach. "I did my best, but she knew she wasn't really one of us. Told us so at the breakfast table when she was four. Said we were too unalike to be really related."

Anne is chuckling at the memory while Mycroft watches her. He can't even bring himself to remind Anne not to call him Mickey. He just continues to cry.

"You don't have to believe me... but I didn't take Marie to spite you. I took her because Caroline asked me to. She… she didn't want you to find her it… it was her dying wish and I… I…"

Anne stutters to a stop. She is whipping her tears away too. He understands. Caroline was Anne's best friend, she would have done anything Caroline asked her to do. Mycroft had always known Anne had been with Caroline while she died. It was what got him through his grief. Knowing that Anne wouldn't have left Caroline to suffer alone.

"I miss her," Mycroft suddenly cries. "I miss them. I thought I wouldn't… I couldn't… but…"

"I miss her too, but Caroline's not coming back and it's my job to make sure that Marie's taken care of," Anne replies. She wipes the last of her tears away and stares grimly down at him. "Did you really take the codes to get her back? Were you really going to give your precious job up for her?"

Anger flashes through Mycroft. "Of course I did! I had them even before you confirmed she was mine. She was my flesh and blood and I loved her! Even when she was just my niece I loved her! I would have give it all up had you just coordinated with me she'd be… she'd…" he trailed off.

Anne nods at this. "And you promise you'll take care of her? And that me and the family get visitation rights?" she asks with narrowed eyes.

Mycroft, while confused by this request, nods at her. He isn't completely heartless; he wouldn't deny her the right to visit Marie's ashes any longer.

"Alright, that's good enough for me," she says and gets up. Mycroft expects that he'll get the ashes back now, but instead of fishing through her pockets to get them she just leaves him there before he can get up to stop her. He's left, a sobbing crumpled mess, on the ground screaming: "Give her back!" over and over as he pounds his fists against the cool marble floor.

Behind him the door opens and he hears a rush of approaching steps. "Good God! Mycroft!" comes John's shocked voice. "Sherlock!"

There is a brief silence, John is on his knees beside the quaking Mycroft. He doesn't need to look up to know that John is silently pleading for Sherlock to do something even remotely comforting but that wasn't really the Holmesian way. Sherlock is probably at a complete loss.

"He's in shock! Shall I get him a blanket?" Sherlock asks, just the sound of his voice small and distant tells him just how shaken his brother is.

John growls at him. "He's your brother for Christ sake, you might act like you're worried," John snaps.

"Of course I'm worried, but unless it's escaped your notice he is unharmed. This is an emotional injury that I have no expertise in!" Sherlock snaps back. John opens his mouth to argue with him only to be shoved out of the way very unceremoniously by Lestrade.

"Jezus! What happened? Is he alright?" He asks.

And suddenly Mycroft is surrounded. Mary has appeared, as has Molly Hooper and even Mrs. Hudson is there. There are all these voices smothering him and Mycroft is still on the floor. He listens to John demand that Sherlock give him his overcoat. Lestrade is asking over and over what happened. He can practically hear Molly salivating over Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson is confused and wants to know where her prize is.

"Shut up! Shut up! JUST SHUT UP!" Mycroft suddenly erupts. "Get out! Leave me. JUST GET OUT!"

There is silence and in that silence all that is heard is Mycroft's ragged breathing. And then….

"Did you mean it dad?"

Mycroft's eyes lift up. Anne is back. To her right Ian and Lyra and their boys. To her left Natalie and Aidan and there one child. And beside Anne is Andrew and their two children. In front of Anne and Andrew is Marie, a hand on both her shoulders. Mycroft can only stare wondering what sort of apparition or hallucination this could be.

"Did you dad? Did you really mean it?" she repeats.

"I would have given it all up," he replies breathless.

Marie shakes her head, her now long dark chestnut hair up in a messy pony tail. She's in her typical outfit, black skirt, and a green jumper to contrast those big blue eyes. Good God he's gone crazy.

"No, not that. Do you… do you really love me?" She asks. Mycroft can only nod at her. He longs to get up and cross to her, to see if he's imagining things, though obviously he isn't. But there is some thing stopping him. And it's the fear that he's wrong some how and the second he goes to put his arms around her she'll vanish and this will all be some terrible hallucination.

Marie looks up to Anne and Andrew, both of which look just so sad. Andrew looks to Anne who just sighs and nods to Marie. Anne and Andrew take their hands off of Marie's shoulder and Marie fairly sprints at Mycroft throwing herself at him, her little but strong arms wrapping around his neck tightly.

As soon as she makes contact Mycroft is crying again, his arms wrap around her, more than aware that this is not a hallucination, this is his child in his arms again after he had spent a year convinced he'd never get her back again. He holds her tightly, one arm around her frail body the other cupping her head lightly, running his fingers along her skull, feeling her heart beat into his chest. He kisses the top of her head and then takes a real long look at her.

Those blue eyes are the same vivid electric blue as before, her hair now neatly contained, she has the Holmseian nose. He sees so much more of himself in her now, so much that he's shocked that he missed it.

"Of course I love you," he says, almost breathlessly. His child brings her hands to his cheek, small and smooth she wipes away his tears. "I am so sorry I gave you cause to doubt that."

"Mummy says that sentiment is not a quality the Holmes' possess. She says I take after you in that respect," Marie says softly and Mycroft finds himself laughing for it is true.

"Combined with the fact that I raised her, we did not think you would trust her if I just gave her back. Not without strings attached," Anne explains.

Mycroft stands, he has Marie in his arms, he holds her as tightly as she holds him. As if she might disappear again. "How?" he asks.

"I revived her," Andrew answers. "Punched her chest until I got her heart started. Not as sophisticated as either of you would expect but it did the job. We took her to one of our specialists in Germany, had a good look over of her, no lasting damage to her brain despite how oxygen deprived it was. She might have lost a few IQ points but she's a Holmes so I doubt it will actually have an affect, she has plenty to spare. She's certain that's why she can't understand advanced calculus now, but it's advanced calculus so who's to say really."

"We also realized that we were presented with a very lucky opportunity. After the incident it was clear to me that you were not fit to be a parent and I did not want you looking for her. I know you Mickey, I knew you wouldn't just give her up now that you knew who she was. So I conveniently left out the fact that she had survived. We faked the ashes with a lot of her hair and her baby teeth, it was enough to get a DNA print and we didn't think you'd argue with that," Anne continues.

"We also didn't think you'd chase us. But you were relentless finding us. Anne finally snapped and shot you, thinking that would deter you from searching for us, because if you continued searching surly you'd find out we lied about her," Andrew says.

Anne nods. "Then there was the problem that Marie missed you and her Uncle Sherlock," she says. "She missed her blood family."

She says this last line with a hint of bitterness in her voice. Mycroft nods along with this. Marie taps him until he puts her down. She rushed over to Anne and hugs her tightly.

"You'll always be my mummy," she whispers and Anne smiles.

In turn she hugs everyone, they all say good-bye to her. The kids seem tearful about letting her go. Anne's real oldest, a girl that Mycroft doesn't remember the name of says very forcefully that Marie will always be an Ashton to her.

Anne is glaring daggers at Mycroft. "I expect to be able to visit her on holidays and maybe have her over for the summer breaks," she says. "And I don't want that used as a way for you to arrest me."

Mycroft plans to say yes to this, but it's Natalie who steps forward and since she's the sharpshooter with the anger management problems he's immediately worried. "We will always be watching, if there's another incident like the last one, I am taking my niece back and you won't ever see her again you got me little man?" she snaps.

"Always watching!" Lyra growls, pointing at Mycroft.

Mycroft merely nods. He has walked back to Marie, a hand on her shoulder, pulling her up against his leg. "Yes of course, visitation rights. You can visit whenever you want," he replied.

Anne nods, and Aidan taps her shoulder. "Cops are here, we got to go," he says.

Anne bends and takes Marie's face in her hands. "I am never too far away," she says to her.

"I love you too," Marie replies and then the family is leaving.

"Thank you," Mycroft breathes out and he thinks he catches a smile on Anne's face as she glances back at them.

There is a moment of silence as they disappear into the shadows as quickly as they came. The officers descend upon them just as the Holmes family descends upon the resurrected Marie, each hugging her and pinching her cheeks. Mycroft is practically swatted out of the way as the mob rushed for her.

The warm relief spreads through his chest as he stands to the side and smiles at his child, his little girl. He was never going to let her out of his sight ever again.

For the first time since Mycroft lost Carolyn, he feels whole. And he hadn't even realized that part of him was empty up until now.


	7. Chapter 7

The Secret Child

 **AvalonReeseFanFics**

 _A/N: So this is it. It's the last chapter. I plan to put up some fluff pieces later on, I just need to see where this season goes before I do that. I want to do a couple of chapter of Marie older, as in as a teen with boys involved to see how all the men in her life take it. So definitely stay tuned for that. Thanks to everyone who read, and please keep following for more fluffy pieces._

Chapter 7: A Future Foresight.

* * *

The car is silent. Mycroft at the wheel, Sherlock beside him, Marie in the back playing with a chemistry model set, creating different cellular make ups from memory. Both men were nervous, and understandably so, Marie was about to meet the most formidable person in the country.

"She'll be fine," Sherlock kept saying.

"I'll be fine," Marie kept echoing.

And Mycroft kept replying with: "I'm more worried about me."

They drove out into the British countryside, at one point Marie fell asleep and so did Sherlock. But when they pull up to the thatched white walled cottage surrounded by flowers and covered in climbing ivy everyone is awake and the men are once again nervous.

Marie puts her chemistry models away and is now staring at the cottage, fear finally etched onto her face. When she gets out of the car she puts her small hand into Mycroft's looks up to him and asks: "What if she doesn't like me?"

Mycroft looks down to Marie. The little girl with whom only a month ago he thought was dead. The one who now had her own room in his spacious house and had managed to turn his formerly pristine abode into messy chaos. She had dressed especially for this occasion, wearing a nice navy blue frock and a white little cardigan. She had spent an hour on her hair this morning and had cried until Mycroft had been forced to try his hand at doing a little girl's messy shoulder length black hair.

The result was less than desirable, but Marie liked her hair pulled back in uneven and messy pigtails. Though he was slightly convinced that she had only said that as to not hurt his feelings. He smiles his encouragement to her. "You must remember, that I'm the one in trouble, not you."

She nods and they turn to the door and there she is, standing on the stoop in a multicolored afghan draped over her, a long sleeved black shirt underneath it. She stands in her mom jeans with her white hair pulled back in a sleek pony tail. A disapproving glare on her face.

"So," Mummy Holmes says. "Where is this granddaughter neither of you told me about?"

"Mycroft's idea!" Sherlock yelps, just as Mycroft sighs and says: "That is not what happened!"

Marie takes this time to let go of Mycroft's hand and his behind his long leg, her little arms wrapping around the limb, her fingers tightly gripping his suit pants, hindering his ability to run. He reached an arm around to put his hand onto the top of her head.

She gets off the stoop and walks towards them and Mycroft pulls himself up and puffs his chest out, while Marie hazards a look out from behind his leg.

"I'm afraid you've frightened her," he says to his mother.

Mrs. Holmes merely cocks an eyebrow and bends over to look at her. "Now, let's get a good look at you."

Marie slowly emerges out from behind him and blinks those big blue eyes up at his mother. She smiles at the little girl, tears practically forming in her eyes.

"Well, I can definitely see how you boys got confused but really Mikey! You're supposed to be a genius!" she cried.

"My mummy says not to call him Mikey!" Marie piped up and Mrs. Holmes turned a surprised look to Mycroft who cleared his throat and added: "She means her foster mother."

"Ah, young Annie. So sad, the two of you used to be friends."

"We were never friends Mummy, she was an evil evil child who grew to be a terrible person," Mycroft argues.

"I will not argue about that tragic little girl Mikey," Mrs. Holmes snaps and then looks back to Marie. "Well, you definitely got my good looks. I've been told you like cookies, shall we go inside and get some."

"Oh yes!" Marie cries, jumping up to put her hand in his mother's hand. "Thank you Grand-mummy!"

He hears his mother's laughter as the two disappear into the house. Both Mycroft and Sherlock turn their backs to the house and pull out their cigarettes and quickly light one up.

"And you were worried about introducing them," Sherlock whispers.

Mycroft shoots him a subtle glare. "I haven't even got the most of the lecture she had planned for me and you know it."

"Yes, well you withheld the existence of her first and only grandchild from her until the kid was legally declared dead, what do you expect?" Sherlock half snorts at him as if trying to hold in his laughter.

They're silent for a little while longer as they puffed on their cigarette's and then Sherlock added: "She's going to spoil Marie rotten, you know that right?"

"As if the rest of you haven't been spoiling her?" Mycroft shoots back.

"As if you're not? I've seen your place, you have more educational toys then John does," Sherlock says.

Marie skips over to them, she has two cookies, one that she's munching on and one that she offers up to Sherlock.

"What? I don't get a cookie?" Mycroft asks.

Marie turns her wide eyes to father. "Grand-mummy says you're not supposed to be eating sugar," she says and Sherlock practically chokes on his mouthful of cookie.

Mycroft's eyes narrow. "Are you eating my cookie?" he asks with a suspicious tone.

Marie's lips twitch and she dashes off back towards the house crying: "Grand-mummy! Dad's being mean to me!"

There's a shout of: "Mycroft Holmes," and while Sherlock laughs Mycroft swears.

"I see it's started already," Sherlock says while Mycroft throws his smoke down to the gravel and rubs it out.

He tries not to show to his brother that it bugs him that his daughter still calls him Dad and not Daddy. Apparently Daddy would always be Andrew Ashton to her, and that was a bit hurtful.

The two men made their way into the house, where Marie was sitting with her new Grand-daddy and listening to him talk about one of his old academic papers. Their mother was staring at them with a disappointed glare.

"She is an absolute dear, so very much like the two of you," she says after some time, where the two boys squirmed under her scrutinizing eyes. "She is so well rounded, quite a personality on that girl, there's a lot of Annie in her as well."

Mycroft nods to her. "Yes, yes, it's quite extra-ordinary."

"She's going to be a handful in her teenage years. You won't be able to keep the boys off of her," their mother says softly with a bit of a sly smile on her face.

Mycroft understands what she's doing. It's a psychological warfare. She's reminding him of new fears, future fears. Not just of safety and keeping her alive, but sooner or later there would be boys and it was just now that Mycroft was realizing, with a tightness in his chest that kept him short of breath, that he might be not be able to handle a boy sniffing around his child.

"Granted there will be plenty of time to decide how you're going to handle that," their mother says. "Shall I make us tea?"

"Oh! Oh! Can I help?" Marie asks bouncing off of the couch and rushing over to her new Grand-mummy.

"Of course! I'm always looking for a new helper in the kitchen," Mrs. Holmes says.

Marie is quick to hug her father as she goes by. "Thanks for the new Grand-mummy!" she says before she goes to join their mother in the kitchen.

It was then that Mycroft realized several things. New Grand-mummy could mean a lot of things but he was leaning more towards realizing that the Ashton's hadn't quite cut off their son from the family as they had professed they did. This was more than a hunch, he'd need more proof of course, but it was clear to him that the Ashton's were most likely very active grandparents in the Ashton-Peppercraft family.

Next realization: His mother was going to make his life a living hell. She had met Marie now and that meant she would be a more present feature in Mycroft's life as she would very much want to see more of her only grandchild.

And lastly. Life with Marie was going to be a challenge. She was going to test him and push him and he would always have to be on his toes. She was a Holmes, smart and quick but she had been raised by a Peppercraft and that meant she would be cunning and mischievous. Boys would be a problem at a later date but he was more than certain he could just detain them as terrorists until they lost interest in her.

Life would never be boring or mundane ever again. But if that little girl was in his life hugging him at every turn than he found that to be a more than acceptable trade.


End file.
